Beatrix of Clare

  Produced by Al Haines

  Cover art.]

  [Frontispiece: The Countess raised her hand and pointed at him.]

  BEATRIX OF CLARE

  BY

  JOHN REED SCOTT

  AUTHOR OF "THE COLONEL OF THE RED HUZZARS"

  WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY

  CLARENCE F. UNDERWOOD

  GROSSET & DUNLAP

  PUBLISHERS ------- NEW YORK

  Copyright, 1907, by John Reed Scott

  Published May, 1907

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER

  I. RUDDY TRESSES AND GREAT EYES II. RICHARD OF GLOUCESTER III. THE VOICE ON THE RAMPARTS IV. TRAILING CHAINS V. THE CAPTURED FAVOR VI. A WAYSIDE SKIRMISH VII. A FAVOR LOST VIII. THE INN OF NORTHAMPTON IX. THE ARREST X. THE LADY MARY CHANGES BARGES XI. ON CHAPEL CREEK XII. THE KING'S WORD XIII. AT ROYAL WINDSOR XIV. THE QUEEN OF ARCHERY XV. THE FROWN OF FATE XVI. THE FLAT-NOSE REAPPEARS XVII. IN PURSUIT XVIII. THE HOUSE IN SHEFFIELD XIX. BACK TO THE KING XX. IN ABEYANCE XXI. BUCKINGHAM'S REVENGE XXII. THE KNIGHT AND THE ABBOT XXIII. THREE CHEVRONS GULES XXIV. "WHEN YOU HAVE TOPPED THESE STAIRS" XXV. A PAGE FROM THE PAST XXVI. THE JUDGMENT OF THE KING

  ILLUSTRATIONS

  Cover Art

  The Countess raised her hand and pointed at him . . . _Frontispiece_

  The Duke fastened his eyes upon the young knight's face.

  He struck him a swinging right arm blow that sent him plunging amongthe rushes on the floor.

  BEATRIX OF CLARE

  I

  RUDDY TRESSES AND GREY EYES

  Two archers stepped out into the path,--shafts notched and bows up.

  "A word with your worship," said one.

  The Knight whirled around.

  "A word with your worship," greeted him from the rear.

  He glanced quickly to each side.

  "A word with your worship," met him there.

  He shrugged his shoulders and sat down on the limb of a fallen tree.Resistance was quite useless, with no weapon save a dagger, and noarmor but silk and velvet.

  "The unanimity of your desires does me much honor," he said; "prayproceed."

  The leader lowered his bow.

  "It is a great pleasure to meet you, Sir Aymer de Lacy," said he, "andparticularly to be received so graciously."

  "You know me?"

  "We saw you arrive yesterday--but there were so many with you wehesitated to ask a quiet word aside."

  The Knight smiled. "It is unfortunate--I assure you my talk would havebeen much more interesting then."

  "In that case it is we who are the losers."

  De Lacy looked him over carefully.

  "Pardieu, man," said he, "your language shames your business."

  The outlaw bowed with sweeping grace.

  "My thanks, my lord, my deepest thanks." He unstrung his bow andleaned upon the stave; a fine figure in forest green and velvet bonnet,a black mask over eyes and nose, a generous mouth and strong chin belowit. "Will your worship favor me with your dagger?" he said.

  The Knight tossed it to him.

  "Thank you . . . a handsome bit of craftsmanship . . . these stones aretrue ones, _n'est ce pas_?"

  "If they are not, I was cheated in the price," De Lacy laughed.

  The other examined it critically.

  "Methinks you were not cheated," he said, and drew it through his belt."And would your lordship also permit me a closer view of the fine goldchain that hangs around your neck?"

  De Lacy took it off and flung it over.

  "It I will warrant true," he said.

  The outlaw weighed the links in his hand, then bit one testingly.

  "So will I," said he, and dropped the chain in his pouch.

  "And the ring with the ruby--it is a ruby, is it not?--may I alsoexamine it? . . . I am very fond of rubies. . . Thank you; you aremost obliging. . . It seems to be an especially fine stone--andworth . . . how many rose nobles would you say, my lord?"

  "I am truly sorry I cannot aid you there," De Lacy answered; "beingneither a merchant nor a robber, I have never reckoned its value."

  The other smiled. "Of course, by 'merchant,' your worship has noreference to my good comrades nor myself."

  "None whatever, I assure you."

  "Thank you; I did not think you would be so discourteous. . . Buttouching money reminds me that doubtless there is some such aboutyou--perhaps you will permit me to count it for you."

  The Knight drew out a handful of coins. "Will you have them one by oneor all together?" he asked.

  "All together; on the turf beside you, if you please. . . Thankyou. . . And do you know, Sir Aymer, I am vastly taken with the shortgown of velvet and sable--you brought it from France, I assume; thefashion smacks of the Continent. I would like much to have youropinion as to how it looks on me--we are rather of a size, I takeit--though I shall have to forego the pleasure of the opinion untilanother day. . . And now that I can see your doublet, I am enamouredalso of it--will you lend it to me for a little while? Truly, my lord,I mind never to have seen a handsomer, or one that caught my fancymore."

  De Lacy looked again at the archers and their ready bows.

  "St. Denis, fellow," he said, "leave me enough clothes to return to thecastle."

  "God forbid," exclaimed the bandit, "that I should put a gallantgentleman to any such embarrassment--but you must admit it were a shameto have gown and doublet and yet no bonnet to match them. . ."

  The Knight took it off and sent it spinning toward him.

  "Note the feather," he said. "It is rarely long and heavy."

  "I observed that yesterday," was the merry response.

  "Is there anything else about me you care for?" De Lacy asked.

  "Nothing--unless you could give me your rarely generous disposition.Methinks I never met a more obliging gentleman."

  The Knight arose. "Then, as I am already overdue at Windsor, I shallgive you good morning."

  The archer raised his hand.

  "I am sorry, my lord, but we must impose a trifle further on your goodnature and ask you to remain here a while," and he nodded to the manbeside him, who drew a thin rope from his pouch and came forward.

  De Lacy started back--the leveled arrows met him on every side.

  "You would not bind me!" he exclaimed.

  The outlaw bowed again.

  "It grieves me to the heart to do it, but we have pressing businesselsewhere and must provide against pursuit. Some one will, I hope,chance upon you before night. . . Proceed, James--yonder beech willanswer."

  The Knight laughed.

  "I thank you for the hope," he said--and, throwing his body into theblow, smashed the rogue with the rope straight on the chin-point, andleaping over him closed with the leader.

  It was done so quickly and in such positions that the others dared notshoot lest they strike either James or their chief--but the strugglewas only for a moment; for they sprang in and dragged the Knight away,and whipped the rope about his arms.

  "Marry," exclaimed the leader, brushing the dirt from his clothes, "Iam sorry they did not let us have the wrestle out--though you are aquick hitter, my lord, and powerful strong in the arms. I wager youshowed James more stars than he ever knew existed."

  James, still dazed, was struggling to get up, and one of the othersgave him a hand.

  "By St. Hubert," he growled, rubbing his head in pain and scowling atDe Lacy, "if there be more I have no wish to see them."

  In the fight De Lacy's forearm had struck the point of his own dagger,where it protruded below the brigand's belt, and the blood wasscarleting the white sleeve of his tunic.

  The leader came over and bared the wound.

&nbs
p; "It is a clean gash, my lord," he said, "but will need a bandage." Hedrew a bow-cord around the arm above the elbow; then, "With yourpermission," carefully cut away the sleeve and deftly bound up the hurt.

  De Lacy watched him curiously.

  "You are a charming outlaw," he observed; "a skillful surgeon--and Ifancy, if you so cared, you could claim a gentle birth."

  The man stepped back and looked him in the eyes a moment.

  "If I remove the bonds, will you give me your Knightly word to remainhere, speaking to no one until . . . the sun has passed the topmostbranch of yonder oak?"

  The Knight bowed.

  "That I will, and thank you for the courtesy."

  At a nod the rope was loosed, and the next instant the outlaws hadvanished in the forest--but De Lacy's cloak lay at his feet, flungthere by the chief himself.

  "St. Denis!" De Lacy marveled, "has Robin Hood returned to the flesh?"

  Then he looked at the sun, and resumed his seat on the fallen tree.

  "A pretty mess," he mused--"a stranger in England--my first day atWindsor and the jest of the castle. . . Stripped like a jowlytradesman . . . taken like a cooing babe . . . purseless . . .daggerless . . . bonnetless . . . doubletless--aye, naked, but for anoutlaw's generosity . . . cut by my own weapon"--he held up his handand looked at the abraded knuckles--"and that is all the credit I haveto show--the mark of a caitiff's chin. . . Methinks I am fit only forthe company of children."

  He glanced again at the sun--it seemed not to have moved at all--thensat in moody silence; the wound was smarting now, and he frowned at itevery time it gave an extra twinge. . . Would the sun nevermove? . . . He got up and paced back and forth, his eyes on the oak atevery turn--truly that tree was growing higher every minute--or the sunwas sinking. . . Not that he was in haste to return to Windsor. . .There would be a fine tale to tell there--no need to speed to it--itwould speed to him quite soon enough. . . . But to get away from theaccursed place--anywhere . . . back to Windsor even . . . what if someone found him here in this plight--and he not allowed to speak--unableto explain--dumb as that oak. . . Would the sun never move! The woundwas stinging sharply, and the arm above the cord was turning black andswelling fast--the pressure must come off. He felt for his dagger;then flung out an imprecation, and tried to tear the cord asunder withhis teeth. It was quite futile; it was sunk now so deep in the fleshhe could not seize it--and the knots were drawn too tight to loose. . .Would the sun never move!

  He fell to searching for a stone--a small one with an edge that couldreach in and rasp the deer-hide cord apart--but vainly; though he triedmany, only to leave his arm torn and bleeding. . . Yet at last the sunhad moved--it was up among the thinner branches.

  Of a sudden, back in the forest rose the deep bay of a mastiff . . .and presently again--and nearer . . . and a third time--and stillnearer . . . and then down the path came the great tawny dog, tailarched forward, head up--and behind him a bay horse, a woman in thesaddle.

  "Down, Rollo, down!" she cried, as the mastiff sprang ahead. . ."Beside me, sir!" and the dog whirled instantly and obeyed.

  De Lacy bethought himself of his cloak, and hurrying to where it lay hetried to fling it around his shoulders, but with only one hand and hishaste he managed badly and it slipped off and fell to the ground. Ashe seized it again the horse halted behind him.

  "You are wounded, sir," she said; "permit me to aid you."

  He turned slowly, bowing as he did so--he dared not speak--then glancedup, and almost spoke in sheer amazement, as he beheld the slenderfigure in green velvet--the sweet, bow-shaped mouth, the high-bred,sensitive nose, the rounded chin, the tiny ear, the soft, deep greyeyes, and, crowning all, the great rolls of the auburn hair thatsunbeams spin to gold.

  "Come, sir," said she, "I stopped to aid you, not to be stared at."

  De Lacy flushed and made to speak, then checked himself, and withanother bow held up his arm and motioned for her to cut the cord.

  "Merciful Mother!" she exclaimed, and severed it with a touch of herbodkin.

  The blood flooded fiercely forward and the wound began to bleed afresh.

  "The bandage needs adjusting--come," and slipping from saddle shetossed the rein to the dog and went over to the fallen tree. "Sitdown," she ordered.

  With a smile De Lacy obeyed; as yet she did not seem to note hissilence. And it was very pleasant indeed--the touch of her slimfingers on his bare arm--the perfume of her hair as she bent over thework--the quick upward glance at times of her grey eyes questioning ifshe hurt him. He was sorry now there were not a dozen wounds for herto dress.

  "There, that will suffice until you get proper attendance," she said,tying the last knot and tucking under the ends.

  He took her hand and bowing would have kissed it; but she drew it awaysharply and turned to her horse. Then she stopped and looked at him insudden recollection.

  "Parbleu, man, where is your tongue?" she demanded. "You had one lastnight."

  Where she had seen him he did not know; he had not seen her--and itonly tangled the matter the more, for now she would know he was notdumb. But how to explain?

  He smiled and bowed.

  "That is the sixth time I have got a bow when a word was due," shesaid. "There may be a language of genuflections, but I do not know it."

  He bowed again.

  "Seven," she counted; "the perfect number--stop with it."

  He put his hand to his lips and shook his head in negation--thenpointed to the sun and the tree, and shook his head again--then oncemore to the sun and slowly upward to the top of the tree, and nodded inaffirmation.

  She watched him with a puzzled frown.

  "Are you trying to tell me why you do not speak?" she asked.

  He nodded eagerly.

  "Tell me again" . . . and she studied his motions carefully. . . "Thesun and the tree--and the sun and the tree again . . . is that yourmeaning? . . . Ah! . . . the _top_ of the tree . . . I think I ambeginning to understand. . . . Where is your doublet?"

  De Lacy pointed into the forest.

  "And your bonnet? . . . with your doublet? . . . and your dagger? . . .gone with the others? . . . you mean your ring? and it went with them,too? . . . yes, yes--I see now--outlaws, and your wound got in thestruggle." . . . She turned toward the tree. . . "Ah! I have it:--youare paroled to silence until the sun has risen above the highestbranch . . . what? . . . and also must remain here until then? . . . Isee--it was that or die . . . no? . . . Oh! that or be bound? . . .well, truly the knaves were wondrous courteous!" . . . She studied DeLacy's face a moment--then sat down. "Would you like company?" sheasked.

  Would he like company! Her company!

  She laughed gayly--though a bit of color touched her cheek.

  "Thank you," she said, "I can read your countenance better than yourbows."

  Then suddenly his face grew grave and he motioned no.

  "Yes, and I can understand that, too," she smiled, "and thank you forit. It may be a trifle uncommon to sit here in the depths of Windsorforest with a man I never met . . . never even saw until lastnight . . . and who has never spoken a single word to me . . . yet"(glancing at the sun) "the time is not long and . . . the path israrely traveled."

  He smiled--but the concern lingered in his eyes and he shook his headquestioningly.

  "Nay, sir, do you not see your very urging me to go proves me safe instaying?"

  He hesitated, still doubtful--then threw himself on the turf at herfeet.

  "I suppose it is for me to do the talking," she observed.

  And as she talked he fell to watching the sun in her hair--the play ofher lips--the light in her eyes. . . . Never before would he havebelieved that grey could be so deep and tender; or that a mouth couldbe so tantalizing; or the curve of a cheek so sweet; or ruddy tressesso alluring. . . . And her voice--was there ever such another!--soft,low, clear, like silver bells at twilight out at sea.

  And in the watching he lost her words, nor nodded wh
en heshould--until, at length, she sprang up and went over to her horse.And when in sharp contrition he followed after to apologize, she methim with a laugh and gracious gesture--then pointed to the sun.

  "The parole is lifted," she said. "Will you put me up?"

  With his sound arm he swung her into saddle--and with Rollo in advanceand him beside her they went slowly back to Windsor. And now he didthe talking--telling first the story of the outlaws.

  When the towers of the huge castle showed afar through the trees, DeLacy halted.

  "Would you deem me rude if I went no further with you?" he asked.

  She smiled kindly. "On the contrary, I would deem you very wise."

  "I care not to proclaim my adventure with the outlaws. It would makeme a merry jest in the hall."

  "I understand--and yet, wounded and without bonnet or doublet, you willnot pass unnoted; an explanation will be obligatory."

  "The wound is easy," he said; "my own dagger made it, you remember--butthe doublet and bonnet, particularly the doublet, are bothersome."

  She looked at him with quick decision.

  "I will manage that," she said; "your squire shall bring both to youhere."

  De Lacy's face lighted with sudden pleasure, and he put out his handtoward hers--then drew it sharply back and bowed.

  "Still bowing?" she said naively.

  "I have no words to speak my gratitude," he said.

  "And I no ears that wish to hear them, if you had," she laughed. "Thismorning you have had much trouble--I much pleasure--the scales arebalanced--the accounts canceled. We will forget it all. Never will Imention it to you--nor you to me--nor either to another. When we meetagain it will be as though to-day had never been. . . Nay, sir, itmust be so. You have been unfortunate, I unconventional--it is bestfor both we start afresh."

  "But am I not even to know your name?" he protested.

  She shook her head. "Not even that, now, and I ask your word not toseek to know it--until we meet again."

  "You have it," said he, "until we meet again--to-morrow."

  She smiled vaguely. "It will be a far to-morrow . . . good-bye, mylord," and rode away--then turned. "Wait for your squire," she called.

  "And for to-morrow," he cried.

  But she made no answer, and with a wave of her hand was gone, the dogleaping in front of her and baying loud with joy.